He placed the toys back in their box before sliding it back under his bunk. That was the past, he would tell himself, for he had a new life, one much better than the last. He had friends, people he could have fun with, he had teachers, those who he could look up to and those who could correct his mistakes. Life at the academy was far better than anything that Dunreen could have given him. According to Mr Greenbottle, his mother was one of the highest ranking members of the Mayor's staff, being the child of her would mean that anything that he would do could reflect on her; but here, all he was was Webley. Nothing he did could reflect on others, all he did, all he wanted, all he had was his.
"Webley!", the matron was doing her rounds, "Get up you lazy thing! A parcel's waitin' for you!" Of course, it was his birthday. One of the few days, no, only day that he got any post from his family. It felt as though they had forgotten him, and that this was simply the minimum they could do to show him that they still existed. At first, the presents were of a good quality, like on his sixth birthday he received a junior brewing kit; however, in recent years the gifts had been getting cheaper and cheaper, like on his twelfth birthday when he was gifted a badly put together bow. He sighed heavily and swung his legs round off the edge of the bed. Pulled up his trousers and grabbed the shirt off his chair, it was clean enough to wear for another day, or at least it smelt that way. He grabbed his bookbag and headed out the door.
Over the banister he could see a few of his classmates sitting around the dormant fireplace at the end of the dormitory; Lyle turned after hearing his friend descend the stairs.
"Webley, took you long enough! Where've you been?", "I-er" Webley tried to respond before being abruptly interrupted by Tim-Tom, "No matter, mate. Come, take a gander at this." In his hand, half wrapped in creased, brown paper, lay a belt; on the belt, perfectly inscribed were two smoking leaves, the crest of the Tealeaf family. Webley stared at it, confused for a moment. He did not know much of his family's history, he only knew as much as any other person: that it was a long line of hooligans and drunks, but he did not expect that they would have an item so precious in their possession and not have sold it as quickly as they had gotten their hands on it.
"That's an heirloom" Mr Greenbottle came through the dormitory room, "It is something all halfling families have, it is passed down to the eldest son when-" He hesitated, being as careful as ever with his words, "Well, when it is appropriate. It is the current holder's job to know when it is time. It appears that your father has decided that now is the time." He muttered something under his breath and walked over to the boys.
"Y'see this:" he tilted the belt on its side, revealing writing all the way across the rim, "all the previous owners of this here belt" Roscoe had a smile on his face, one which you would only see if he was genuinely interested in a subject, like if you left him alone with his bees. The day would carry on like any other of Webley's birthdays: he would go through his timetable; people would acknowledge his birthday as they pass by; though through all this he still felt as if something were off about how his tutor reacted to the heirloom. When the next year rolled around, on his fifteenth birthday, his suspicions appeared to be true; no more presents were to arrive from his father. Did Milo simply want to forget about his son? Did he need to give the belt away before something happened to it? Webley couldn't figure it out, but something must have happened.
